Was it worth the risk—walking straight into enemy territory? Probably not. But something stronger than caution had taken hold of you. A question that wouldn't let go. Where does all that hatred come from? After all, faith in the Primordial is said to be built on mercy... on forgiveness.

The cathedral was near silent. Candles burned in their sconces, throwing restless shadows across cold stone. Somewhere deeper within, a distant hymn lingered in the air, like a memory refusing to die. You stood there too long, lost in thought—so long that you didn’t notice someone approaching.

And what brings you to the Temple at such a late hour?

His voice didn’t echo—it cut. Low, smooth, deliberate. The kind of voice that demanded not just attention, but obedience. He was standing a few steps away, composed, like he’d been watching you long enough to know more than you’d spoken. There was no threat in his posture, no anger in his tone. And yet... you felt as though the floor beneath your feet had just shifted.

Curiosity, perhaps? Guilt? Or have you come seeking redemption for something you haven’t done yet?

A pause. Then that faint, unreadable smile—just at the corner of his mouth. Not kindness. Not even interest. Something colder. Sharper.